Poems classified as: Prose Poem

An out of the box genre of poetry that is written in prose instead of verse. But there is a difference! Prose poems maintain poetic qualities of grand imagery and emotional consequences. Being a fusion of poetry and prose, this genre is an interesting narrative to read. Prose poems can take you deep in the theme with its story-telling. A great genre to explore!

The Widow

The Widow prose poem

Dawn did arrive and brought soft light across a sand-filled shore; but no one knew the sadness that the widow there did bore; the young new widow with bare feet and loneliness at heart, walked slowly down the sandy beach

Morning

Morning prose poem

Quiet stillness Like the whole world is waiting for something Holding its breath in anticipation As the sun breaks through The once sleepy sky The day waits to begin Until just the right moment When the universe is ready To

For Peace

For Peace prose poem

Dead ones speak Martyr speaks More loudly than before With Echos every corner How fortunate they Treading path of Martyrdom Martyrdom to peace Harmony & Justice But- Shooters of martyrs Build society of hatred And martyrs crucified Generation after generation

Dark Cloud

Dark Cloud prose poem

Dark cloud looming. Moving slowly. But it’s there. Creeping in front of the sun’s path, dimming the light, inch by inch. Will it settle? Will it stay? Will it slide on by and keep on it’s way? Is there rain

Cooked

Cooked prose poem

No more. Can’t take no more. Struggle with sanity is draining me dry with each passing day. People pride themselves in pruning their puritanical egos to ‘adhere’ and ‘belong’. Should I too? Because i ain’t me no more. Do I

Love

Love prose poem

How mesmerising it is to have you infront of me, How loving it feels when you play with my hair, There is nothing more addictive than your caring embrace, There is no other fragrance better than yours that I wear.

A New Dawn

A New Dawn prose poem

A New Dawn Justice Eluded her But she was On Run Till last gasp But soon surrounded The foul air Lies and deceit Confusion thicken With Past ,pre past links of delinked Whither the path? Now energy lost Treading forward

The Chasm

The Chasm prose poem

Somewhere, there is a chasm A deep cut in the ground A scar in the earth A wound in the world I stand over the edge My hair blows in the winds of endless freefall If I wanted to cross

Another New Year

Another New Year prose poem

Count your blessings you’re still here it’s 2018 another wonderous year. 2017 has passed us by ain’t it truly funny how time can really fly. Was 2017 a scream or just routine? Did it make you hoot and holler, kept

A Wooden Chair

A Wooden Chair prose poem

He is still leaning, without arms, on legs doomed to be broken. His profession is lively death, solitude and cold. He remembers nothing from his far past, except for birds’ songs, the rustle of pale leaves, the bubble of a

Shiny Nickels

Shiny Nickels prose poem

Mama ate her collard greens with raw onions, pinching a morsel of greens with sweet cornbread, as juicy pork neckbones lay naked of meat. The sweetness of life, like sweet Kool Aid fills our tummies, while dishes await scrapes of

The Widow

The Widow prose poem

Dawn did arrive and brought soft light across a sand-filled shore, but no one knew the sadness that the widow there did bore. The young new widow with bare feet and loneliness at heart, walked slowly down the sandy beach

Vocabulary Lesson

Vocabulary Lesson prose poem

it’s true that I am cerebral and erudite I use words both pithy and expositional which is to say I am constantly engaged in the act of expounding, setting forth, and explaining my point of view allow me to pontificate-

The Layman

The Layman prose poem

The Layman (Or: When History Repeats Itself)// By: Fareed Ghanem **** He is a layman, just like a gulp of water from a brook passing here by chance. His features are gratis, his eye-brows a bush of terebinth, furze, chicories

Kohl

Kohl prose poem

Night has enveloped, to give me some relief, Now invisible are walls of separation, and thy grief. Where blood quenches the thirst, Disloyalty is faith last and first, Is the religion my beloved belongs to. I beckoned, red and black

The Doubt

The Doubt prose poem

I could see no justice while the righteous were being deprived, I who fought for his face,I who resemble justice was driven by the zeal of what that represents true devotion,devotion for my thoughts that give an insight of my

Death At My Threshold

Death At My Threshold prose poem

“What is it that makes you flabbergasted, my dear mortal? This isn’t for the first time you’ve been throttled by the fear of demise” says the death angel while ripping apart my bones. “Why am I still remain, to you,